Medium
by konnerkris
Summary: Bones diagnoses Jim


We had been siting there for a while, the two of us. I was sitting in my seat behind the stainless steel desk that dominated the cold white room. Opposite me sat my newest patient. His blond hair a little matted from lack of care, sunken blue eyes from lack of sleep and chapped lips. In any other situation this young man might be considered attractive, but sitting across from me was a scared and tiered boy who had somehow got himself caught up in a whole mess of trouble.

We sat in silence for a few moments longer. I wanted to see analyse the young man's body language before words got in the way. He did not act like any of the other patients I had dealt with before. Rather than the cold eyes of most of the patients at Grey psychiatric hospital, this man's sky blue eyes looked drawn out and defeated. Although, every few moments they darted over my shoulder to look at something. I wrote that down in the journal open at my desk, which promoted the patient's eyebrow to draw ever so slightly together.

"Good morning, Mr Kirk." I started. The boy looked at me for a short moment and then gazed at his hands, his index finger tapping lightly at the edge of the table. "I'm Doctor McCoy." I continued. The boy again looked at me for a moment before his gaze was drawn once again over my left shoulder. I turned to follow his line of sight but all I could see was the whitewashed brick.

"Is something bothering you Mr Kirk?"

The boy turned his head slightly up to the right as he gazed at something that I couldn't see.

"Mr Kirk?" the boy's eyes flickered to mine and then back to the empty space to his right.

Suddenly his eyes moved back to me and he said, "Are you talking to me?"

"Of course, Mr Kirk. You're the only on here."

"Oh." The boy said looking back to his hands, "Would you mind calling my Jim? Otherwise it gets a little confusing," he looked back to me with a small smile.

"Of course, Jim." I replied, talking more notes in my journal. Again the young man's eyebrows drew a fraction closer together.

"Are you here?" Jim asked.

"Pardon?" I said a little confused by the question.

"Are you really here? You said that I was the only one here. Are you not here?"

"Of course I'm here Jim."

"Can I touch you to make sure?"

"Er…"

Jim placed his palm out face up on the table laying it over my journal and looked at me with expectant eyes. Hesitantly, awkwardly, I gently pressed the tips of my fingers into his palm. A look of relief spread over Jim's young face as the connection was made.

A shiver ran down my spine and I pulled my hand away. Jim returned his to the edge of the table and continued to tap rhythmically.

 _Why would Jim need touch to verify whether I was real or not_ I thought and wrote it down in my journal, underlining it a few times.

"Jim, do you know why you are here?"

Jims tapping froze and then his eyes closed as he flinched slightly away from something to his left.

"Stop it!" Jim whispered to his left. I wrote this down in the journal. It was becoming pretty clear that Jim was seeing and hearing things around him that I couldn't see or hear and that perhaps he was having trouble distinguishing reality form his psychosis. This was all congruent with the behaviours mentioned in his file.

"I killed someone." Jim finally said looking down at the desk, "And I'm crazy, so they've sent me to this secure psychiatric hospital to me diagnosed before I'm trailed."

That took me by surprise. Most people weren't aware of their own psychosis.

"Jim I need you to be honest with me. How many people do you think are in the room?"

The young man looked around the room numbers on his lips as he counted. Then he looked back to be. "Two," he said. "I think."

"You think?" I asked.

Jim rubbed at his temples. "It's hard to concentrate. Jim admitted, they gave me some pills this morning and I can't…things aren't as clear as normal. I can normally tell but…" Jim stopped suddenly and then, "fuck!" he swore under his breath.

"Jim is everything alright."

"Leonard, I don't know you." I was slightly taken aback at the use of my first name, _I hadn't introduced myself as Leonard had I?_ "I can't trust you."

There was silence for a long moment before I replied, "Jim, you are right, you did kill someone. Now, I've been asked to determine your mental state so you can be trailed fairly but in order to do that you're going to have to trust me."

Jim thought for a while, his eyes gazing over my right shoulder before he said. "OK, but you have to keep an open mind."

"Of course Jim."

"I didn't mean to kill him by the way."

"Why don't you tell me what happened?"

"Haven't you read the statement I gave to the police?"

"I have, but I'd like to hear it from you."

"Ok, but before I start, because I've decided to trust you and because you're keeping an open mind, I think I'd like to change my answer to your question from before."

I raise my eyebrow curiously.

"About how m

any people are in the room. I can see four people in this room besides myself but I think only the two of us are actually here. And before you write that down in your journal can you let me explain why I'm not psychotic?"

"Ok." I said a little dubiously and began making mental notes.

Jim took a deep, assumedly calming, breath before continuing, "Firstly, to my left is Blake Dent."

"The man you…killed?" I asked, raising my eyebrow again.

"Yeah. He's been hovering around ever since I woke up next to his dead body."

"Hovering around?" I asked again, trying to sound lost but in actuality thinking _lock him up and throw away the key._

"Well perhaps I should start from the beginning." Jim seemed to be a little lost himself.

I gave a nod of encouragement and Jim began his tail.

"The day I was born was the same day as my father died. Which is only strange in that the first memory I have is of my father. He was just talking to me. I'm not sure about what. I was too young to understand. Later as I grew older I started to talk back. I think he must have been very surprised the first time he realised I could see him but I don't remember. What I do remember is that I found it very odd the whenever I spoke about my father to my mother they both became very upset and closed off, so I learnt quickly to refrain from talking about one in front of the other. When I was a little older my mother found me talking to my father. She asked me what I was doing and I replied talking to daddy. She got very upset at that and told me not to play silly games. My father also told me it was best that I not mention that I could see him and only talk to him when no one else was around. It was only when I was a teenager and my grandfather Tiberius died that I realised that I could see ghosts."

My eyebrow came down from its high perch on my forehead as it joined the other, furrowing together. This kid didn't have psychosis, he was just trying to pull a fast one to get out of a murder charge.

"Mr Kirk, if you think I'm going to believe…"

"Please call me Jim."

"Jim."

"And please, let me finish. You said you would keep an open mind."

I scowled and lent back in my uncomfortable metal chair.

Jim continued after a moment, "As I said when my grandfather died I realised my dad had been a ghost my whole life. Tiberius disappeared after a few weeks. My father said it was because he was content with his life and his legacy and he had no reason to hover. My father has never said it but I think he's stayed around this long because of me, because I can see him, because he never knew me when he was alive. He's still here now. Standing to my right. I don't think I would have got through this whole ordeal without him to be honest."

"So you want me to believe that the ghost of your father is standing to your right and the ghost of the man you killed, Blake Dent, to your left?"

"Yes. I know you don't but I hope you will by the end of the story."

I rolled my eyes and let the kid continue his tail.

"So you wanted to hear my version of events?" it was a rhetorical question, "It was last week. My long-time girlfriend had broken up with me."

"Miss Galia Andrews?"

"Yes." He confirmed, "She said I was too weird, always talking to myself. I loved her. I tried to explain what I'm trying to explain to you now, about how I can see ghosts, but she wouldn't have it. I was really angry. I told my dad to," Jim swallowed, "I told him to just disappear and I stormed off to a bar. I didn't drink. I can't drink. I had one bear when I turned eighteen and it was like my body started drifting between universes. One moment reality, the next dream, the next the afterlife. When I woke up the next day I thought my mum was gonna send me to a psychiatric hospital. Well, I guess I ended up in one anyway." Jim laughed dryly to himself, no humour in the gentle sound.

"So, anyway, I didn't drink. Well, I asked for water and sat glumly at the bar. I gave the barkeep a tip so I wouldn't get on his nerves. After a while I got bored so I turned around to people watch. I noticed this jock type siting with his mates."

"Blake?" I asked.

"Yeah. Anyways, he kept looking at me so I smiled and winked at him and he blushed so I thought he could be a fun way to get over Galia."

I rolled my eyes for the second time during Jim's speech.

"So I go over to him and he's very compliant and his friends are a lot less homophobic than most. I offer to buy him a drink and so on and eventually we end up walking back to him place. It wasn't far from the bar but before we got there I started to feel weird."

"Weird how?"

"I suddenly got tired and I kept slipping into a dream reality where I…it's stupid, but I was a captain of a star ship."

My eyebrow rises again.

"So we get back to Blake's and he offers me a glass of water and then the next thing I know I wake up arm deep in blood and Blake's ghost yelling profanity at me. He hasn't left since."

"So you don't actually remember killing him?" I ask leaning a little forward in my chair. Even if this kid is bullshiting me, if he's innocent he doesn't deserve to be punished.

"I don't, but Blake says I did and I believe him." Jim looks to his left at an intangible ghost.

"It sounds to me like you we're drugged."

"I must have been."

"By Blake?"

"He swears he didn't. And anyway it was me who approached him, so he had no need to roofy me."

"You know, if what you are telling me is true, about the drugs I mean, then you should only be being charged with man slaughter."

"No I killed him, and I should be punished for killing him. That's the only way he can move on and rest in peace."

"Wait one god-damn second. You want to go to prison? Why come up with this bullshit story. Why feign to be psychotic?"

"I'm not pretending. I don't want my 'ability' to effect my trial in anyway. I'm guilty. I'm only explaining to you all of this so that they can be sure I'm sane. When I called 911 I still wasn't completely with it. I'm sure you've read the report."

I hum in agreement. I look back over the notes written in the journal. Me Initial thoughts were of psychosis. Shortly moving to bullshit. But if this boy really dose think he can see ghost, perhaps they are the manifestations of his incapability to deal with loss.

"So you say you can see your father and Blake Dent. Who's the third person?" My mind starting to sway back to the side of sympathy for this challenge kid.

Jim smiles, "The third person is you. But I don't have to explain why you're here. But I did have to touch you to make sure you were really here. As I said the pills are making it hard to distinguish."

"Ok, and the fourth person?" I asked a little impatiently.

Jim looked over my right shoulder again. "You're not goanna like it." He said.

"I'm sure I can handle it." I replied.

"It's David McCoy!" Jim said plainly.

"David McCoy?" I asked stupidly, my jaw clenching and my eyebrows furrowing.

"Yeah." Jim says quickly almost ashamedly. "He said I can trust you. He's the reason I'm telling you all this."

How could this kid know about my father, "You look me up kid?" I asked. I could hear the volume of my voice rising as I spoke.

"No I never even…." Jim didn't have the chance to finish.

"You almost had me." I was almost yelling, "I was starting to feel sorry for you. To think you really were ill."

"I'm not." The boy's eyes grew wide.

"I know you're not. You're just pulling a farce to get out of your life sentence. And praying on the relationship I had with my father."

"I promise I'm not lying and I'm not trying to get out of a just sentencing. Let me prove it to you."

I wasn't listing. I pushed my chair back with more force that necessary and angrily stormed to the door. "Take him back to his cell." I said through clenched teeth.

The guards came in to take the boy away. "No!" He said and then looking back to the left of my empty chair continued in a rushed voice, "The tastiest cobblers have peaches that look sweet!"

The door shut behind the yelling boy. I sat back in my chair and scrubbing my hand over my eyes thinking, 'that kid is going to be nothing but trouble.'


End file.
